


I Was Made For Loving You

by mizunohikaru



Series: MizunoHikaru's YOI drabbles and oneshots [4]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Drabble, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Attraction, Mutual Pining, Oneshot, OtaYuri being lovey-dovey, Otario, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, domestic AU, otayuri - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 11:40:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9438596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizunohikaru/pseuds/mizunohikaru
Summary: A short scene of Yuri stayed at Otabek's Almaty flat.One sunny morning, oversized cashmere sweater, musk and sandalwood, tattered paperback novels, omelette for breakfast...and Otabek was the type of person who kept his belongings as best as he could just because of their sentimental values.In summary: I just need an excuse to write a nonsensical Otayuri drabble filled with the tooth-rotting fluff of the domestic AU.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fictiontasy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictiontasy/gifts).



> For my dearest partner in crime: as both of us loves coffee, Otayuri, and domestic AU.  
> Otayuri is love, Otayuri is lyfe. So here's some fluff for the both of us.
> 
> Oh--and as always, this one is un-betaed but I do believe my grammar won't be that bad. Bear with me.  
> Btw for the readers: I have a quick fun game, check the end notes for it. I wish you all good luck!

 

* * *

 

_Don't let me go, we'll be alright_  
_Touch my soul and hold it tight_  
_I've been waiting all my life_  
_I won't scar your young heart_  
_Just take my hand_

_..._

_Please don't go, I've been waiting so long_  
_Oh, you don't even know me at all_  
_But I was made for loving you_

**_I Was Made For Loving You - Tori Kelly & Ed Sheeran_ **

* * *

 

 

The sweater smelled like _him_.

The beige cashmere was left on the sofa’s armrest, scattered along with the morning newspaper and a paperback novel; the well-read book was written in Kazakh language that Yuri couldn’t read. By all means, Yuri wasn’t a fan of reading but he could see that Otabek had reread the books so many times. The spine got several bending marks and there were several folded marks on the upper papers’ edges. It was quite battered with pages that slowly turned yellow by age; the grayish tone of the cover were faded. He could only read ‘OLEG PAVLOV’ on the cover, whom he assumed to be the author.

 

Yuri put down the book on the coffee table, then hesitated for a moment before reaching for the sweater. It was a quiet morning with a slight breeze came from the opened window, which faced the east, the golden rays of sunshine filled the room through the sheer inner curtains. The wooden frame was freshly polished in thin layers of broken white paint yesterday, but the aroma of the new paint was almost gone. Instead, there were scents of sunshine mixed with the clean generic detergent of the hanged laundry from the neighbour’s backyard, brought a trail of nostalgic memories.

 

The blonde skater plopped himself onto the sofa, the mismatched cushion were soft against his back. Buried his face on the cashmere he was holding, Yuri could smelled a faint familiar musk and sandalwood combined with Otabek’s cedar bodywash. He slowly wore the sweater: the fabric hung loose, oversized on his body. While there wasn’t a great difference on their heights, their body type were simply built in different ways. The Russian fairy was slim and flexible thanks to his years of rigorous ballet training, while the hero of Kazakhstan was more stoic with muscles. Yuri sighed. His heart tinged with a longing feeling for the owner, who left the flat a few minutes ago.

 

 _We were out of eggs and milk_ , the Kazakh announced a while ago, closed his refrigerator with an apologetic look. _Wait here for a sec, Yura. I’ll do a quick shopping for us._

 

“Stupid Beka,” The ice tiger of Russia muttered to no one, pretended to be annoyed as he remembered how the older male was hurriedly took his keys and dashed to the front door without asking if his guest want to tag along with him. Granted, Yuri hasn’t wore any proper pants other than his leopard printed boxers and he was kinda half-asleep, but that groceries could wait for some minutes right?

 

“I came here to spend time with you, stupid Beka…” There was a smile plastered onto his face as he whispered to himself—the nickname of the Kazakh’s skater rolled from his tongue, filled with affections. It was one of his rare days off and Yakov agreed to let him spend a week here at Almaty, crashed to Otabek’s flat.

 

While all the furniture screamed the practical bachelor life of his owner, the place was homey and comfy. It filled with things that obviously aged and well used—as Otabek was the type of person who kept his belongings as best as he could just because of their sentimental values rather than filled his pad with the newest trend. The flat was filled with things that even a guest like Yuri could acknowledged that a little bit tattered and worn out; yet still in good, useable condition. And Yuri loves it. So much. It reminded him to his own old, warm nice home he lived with his grandpa at the outskirts of the city, with a long stream of riverbank nearby.

 

It wasn’t that the older male didn’t have the funds as once Yuri accidentally saw a peek of those zeroes on the latter’s account that made even his eyes popped—it was simply because… well, it’s more like Beka. _His_ Beka, he told himself, who prefers to treasure and takes a really good care of the things he loves.

 

There was a soft click and the front door opened. Otabek came in, held a big brown paperbag. The Kazakhstan skater smiled as he saw Yuri sat on the sofa, wearing his sweater. The arms part was particularly loose, and apparently the petite blonde didn’t bother to put any longer pants. The hem of the sweater ended mid-thigh, covered the younger male’s boxer entirely.

 

“I’m back.”

 

“That was actually fast.”

 

“Well,” Otabek put the groceries on the kitchen counter, “The store was just around the corner. So… sunny side up or omelette?”

 

“Omelette,” Yuri tip-toeing to the small kitchen, the linoleum floor felt cool under his bare feet, “Do we still get those hams and mushroom?” He pulled himself and sat on the counter, legs swayed as he tilted his head. Otabek ruffled those blonde locks and patted the younger’s head, “One omelette, with hams and mushroom, coming right up.”

 

He cracked some eggs into a bowl, proceed to beat them evenly before he mixed milk and seasonings with the eggs. Using butter, he sautéed the chopped ingredients, then added the eggs mixture to the pan. Before long, Otabek had filled the birch wooden table with two big plates of omelettes, accompanied with sliced cherry tomatoes, baked beans and some hashbrowns he grilled using the waffle maker.

 

The coffee machine was finished brewing, so he poured the espresso into two mugs. Black for himself, and lots, lots of sugar, cream and milk for Yuri’s share. The younger male still preferred sweet tasting latte, so he need to make do with Otabek’s coffee habit that mainly fueled with bitter espresso.

 

“You know, you really spoilt me rotten,” Yuri commented as he gobbled on his breakfast with so much gusto, “I swore I’ll gain weight during my stay here, and Lilia will kill me later when I came back to Russia.”

 

Otabek smiled, “It’s my purpose, Yura. To spoilt you and make sure you get anything you need. Believe me, Lilia won’t kill you if you exercise enough to burn the calories.”

 

And after a pause: “Yura?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Actually I really don’t want you to leave,” Otabek wiped the sauce on the corner of Yuri’s lips before licked his thumbs clean, “I really, really like to have you here. With me.”

 

The dust of deep crimson spread on Yuri’s cheeks. His face felt hot. Covered his face, he mumbled softly, “Stupid Beka…” Otabek laughed, his deep baritone voice filled the room—and Yuri blushed even harder. He couldn’t say that for a second there, he really imagined a life with Otabek: to let the older male loved and took care of him, spoiled him. Spending their time together, years after years. As he knew already that the latter was the type who really cherished his belongings; he even imagined both of them grey and wrinkled, still holding hand together.

 

And damn, that was actually _not bad_.

Not bad at all.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Let's play a game, shall we?  
> Guess the title of the novel that Yuri found on Otabek's sofa. Leave a comment here. The 1st correct answer will be the winner.  
> I'll contact the winner via the comment's reply. The winner may choose one between Victuuri / OtaYuri, then give me **one noun word**. I'll use it to create a drabble/oneshot for the winner as the reward ^^


End file.
